


hold me now (and leave me never)

by actionpackedlips



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Peter Parker, Identity Reveal, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Rimming, Top Wade Wilson, Virginity, it's soft and filthy, that's what's on the menu for today folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27114631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actionpackedlips/pseuds/actionpackedlips
Summary: Peter Parker decides that his 23 years of virginity needs to end. Who better to help him with that then his closest and bestest friend Deadpool?
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 40
Kudos: 1126
Collections: Isn't it Bromantic?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bisexualbarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualbarry/gifts).



> Can a fic be both soft _and_ flithy? We're about to find out.
> 
> This fic was inspired by the original prompt below from the Isn't It Bromantic? server, and written as a gift! 
> 
> _Peter knows all of New York would be surprised to find out that their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man is a 23 year old virgin. The spandex? The physique? The flawless banter? Yeah. No one would believe he has little to zero experience in the sex department. It all started- well didn't start- back when he was a nerdy little guy that everyone picked on and no one wanted to date. Throw in a radioactive spider and a small room in his Aunt and Uncle's house and you get graduating high school with just a nervous tight-lipped kiss. Don't forget to add in the near crushing weight of hero duty, the ever looming feeling of guilt for windowing your Aunt, and the constant fear of losing anyone else you love and yeah- not much time for a love life. Casual or not. But now- he has his own little place and someone he isn't worried will die because of him. It's Deadpool. Wade. So one day he asks Wade to sleep with him and there's identity reveal. And first time stuff. And Wade needing to be reminded a lot that he's not dreaming. And he keeps saying things like "You're gonna kill me, Spidey." And "Seriously, I'm dying. You killed me. You're so cute." And beautiful. And yeah it's cute and funny and sexy!_
> 
> We're all kind of having a hard time right now. I know I am. So I hope this makes everyone who reads it feel a little bit better.
> 
> Happy reading to you all ♥️ Let me know what you think!

Peter let his feet dangle off the ledge of the building they were both sitting on, quietly despondent but trying to look interested in Wade’s ramblings. The man in question was too focused on his story, hands waving, taco innards flying, to pinpoint the subtle tells of a sad spider. 

It wasn’t Wade’s fault he didn’t notice. Peter didn’t want him to. 

Wade was always the one who was pepping him up, emotionally _rah-rahing_ him, like a high school cheerleader at a personal pep rally. Despite Wade’s own woes, and his endless pain filled days, he always had plenty of happiness and optimism to bestow upon Peter; sometimes literally praising his very existence.

Peter just didn’t want the fanfare today, however appreciated. 

He’d felt melancholy all day. A dull throbbing ache in his breastbone that had engulfed into a hollow numbness by lunch time. It wasn’t often he woke up like this, but it was becoming more frequent. And Peter knew why.

He was lonely. 

Peter was a lonesome twenty three year old who was a full time superhero living a part time life. He loved everything about New York. He loved the people, no matter how grouchy they could be. He loved the smells, no matter how disgusting they could get. He loved the views, however obscured by enormous buildings. He loved every part of it, and that’s what made patrolling it and saving lives that important to him.

But somewhere between donning the Spider-Man suit and now, Peter had forgotten to live _his_ life. The one _outside_ the suit.

Highschool had been a jumble of hormones and schoolwork and new superhuman abilities. When he should have been experiencing all the normal teenage rites of passage, he was busy getting bit by a spider, gaining powers, and losing his uncle. He became Spider-Man in the same exact breath as discovering who _Peter_ was, yet somehow he’d ended up focusing on one more than the other. 

Who was Peter, if not Spider-Man?

The answer was quite pathetic. 

He had a photography job he’d only meant to stay at part time, a little apartment he adored but that felt too empty, and a Spider-Man suit to keep him company. Graduating highschool with a nerdy reputation had done _nothing_ for Peter, and it wasn’t like he could tell people he was the vigilante Spider-Man patrolling the streets at night that they all gossiped and speculated about. He barely remembered the one closed mouth kiss he’d received during his school years, too amped up on adrenaline and nerves when it happened. But that chaste kiss had fueled him through high school. Which may have been fine for an eighteen year old boy, but was decidedly _not_ fine for a twenty three year old _man._

Peter craved intimacy and dreamt of _more_. But he worried too much about what getting close to someone might mean. Not only was being a web slinging hero his best kept secret, one he hesitated to give up freely, but how would he feel if someone he was involved with got hurt (or _worse_ ) because of Spider-Man? The two, while seeming to be separate entities, were one in the same. Spider-Man was Peter Parker, and Peter Parker was Spider-Man. Regardless if someone he dated knew or not, they would be getting both, with all the danger that followed. How could Peter in good conscious involve them in something they simply hadn’t signed up for? 

Even though he knew what he was doing was the right thing it still got to him, the loneliness, the emptiness of his apartment when he got home from work. The dinner-for-one meals he picked up, because he’d stop bothering to cook for himself after leaving Aunt May’s. It was hard when most recipes fed two or more. Sure, Peter could easily down it all himself, his metabolism _wild_ now, but it just reminded him of the fact no one else would be sitting down to eat it with him.

He was a twenty three year old superhero that every stranger envied, wanted, and awed over, yet no one looked twice at when he was out and about as just normal average Peter Parker. His face was just another in the sea of New Yorkers as he passed them on the street, nothing special. So, here he sat, feeling sorry for himself. He allowed himself those kinds of days sometimes. Usually Wade’s funny stories and crazy antics did the trick, but today he just couldn’t snap out of it. It seemed his proximity to Deadpool, who was his closest friend, was only making it worse.

Deadpool, _Wade_ , knew almost everything about Peter. Besides a face and name, of course; the one thing Peter had struggled to give him. He knew Peter worked in photography, but was still going to school part time to be an engineer. He knew Peter’s least favorite vegetable was radishes, his favorite color was, oddly enough, _orange_ , and that there was nothing Peter loved more than being Spider-Man.

Peter kicked his heels against the brick wall and pondered sullenly. He wondered if he’d ever find someone he’d let get closer than he’d allowed Deadpool. Besides Aunt May, who had raised him and didn’t count, and Ned and MJ, who were grandfathered in at this point, Peter literally had _no one_ _else_ in his life he could call himself close to. Except one Wade Wilson, alias Deadpool, retired mercenary extraordinaire turned do-gooder. 

There was no one else he shared jokes with, or laughed with so hard they clutched at their aching stomachs. No one he ate meals with. Absolutely no one else he trusted to watch his back. No one he saw almost every day, or spent texting all the times in between. 

Peter watched as Deadpool laughed uproariously at his own joke, that devilish, devious grin sent his way. Wade’s laugh echoed out into the darkness, fading away, but the smile remained. For the first time all day Peter felt the numbness inside him abate. 

It was there, in the dead of the night, sitting on top of one of the tallest buildings in New York holding a half eaten taco, that Peter came to a realization. It came to him less like the brightness of a lightbulb and more like something _right_ shifting into focus.

Peter had sought Deadpool out _because_ he was having a bad day, hoping it would make him feel better, because there was no one else Peter liked spending his time with more.

There wasn’t anyone else in the whole wide world he’d rather be with in his darkest, saddest moments, because he _did_ trust Wade wholeheartedly. He trusted him to keep him safe when he was vulnerable, to keep his secrets, to be his _best_ _friend_. 

Maybe he could trust him with this, too. 

“Wade,” Peter started, interrupting the man in the middle of his winding tale.

“Huh?” Wade asked before using the break to take a large bite from his taco, bits of ground beef and lettuce plummeting to the ground below. Normally Peter would have taken a moment to crinkle his nose and chastise him for his horrible eating habits, but he was too distracted. 

“If I needed your help—” he started out tentatively, unsure how to begin what he wanted to ask. 

“You know I’d be there in a New York Minute,” Wade interrupted immediately. “Ashley and Mary-Kate style. Zero to sixty, hot on those heels. Whatcha need, Spider-Babe? _You just call out my name, and you know wherever I am,_ ” Wade warbled in an atrocious singing voice. “ _I’ll come runnin'.”_

Even with Peter’s mask on, Wade was great at reading him. At Peter’s blank expression he paused, perplexed. “You gotta know Carole King. No? Okay, how about James Taylor? Still not ringing any bells, huh? God, I forget how young you are sometimes.”

Peter knew Wade hadn’t meant to be condescending. If anything it sounded rather fond, but the light blush that had settled on Peter’s cheeks from Wade's crooning turned into a full burning flame regardless and he turned away, afraid Wade might somehow _feel_ the warmth they were emitting. 

“I’m not _that_ young,” he protested in a mutter. It felt like a double edged sword. He _was_ young, compared to Wade’s age, even though the man was hardly _old_ , but at the same time he was too old to be in the situation he was in; a recluse spandex-wearing virgin who fought against the crime in New York for a living.

He was a _hero_ for god sakes. He had recognition from the city, from the Avengers, hell, Beyonce even commended his bravery in a tweet once! He should have been fighting them off with a _bat_ instead of sitting here wondering if his best friend would pity fuck him.

Not that he wanted pity. Or just a fuck.

Somewhere along the way Deadpool had turned into Wade. And where Deadpool was a brash masked fighting machine, Wade was the soft man beneath it all. He was a whole package of insecurities wrapped up in a 1000 watt smile that dimpled his marred face, topped with gorgeous blue eyes. But even more than all that was that no matter how bad things got, no matter how dire the situation he encountered, Wade _always_ came back. There would be no permanent casualty in the name of knowing Spider-Man.

Which was entirely Peter’s hang up. 

Peter knew all too well how it felt to get his heart ripped out. He carried guilt around in his back pocket, tucked right next to his wallet, because while he may not have been the one to physically kill his Uncle Ben that day, he might as well have. There was no doubt in his mind that he couldn’t go through that pain again. He couldn’t have another loved one's life on his already blood stained hands. 

But with Wade there would be no worries of that. Deadpool could handle himself, and in the situations he couldn’t, Spider-Man was there. And in situations when he wasn’t there, well. Regeneration was. 

The thought of never having to worry about losing Wade eased the hollowness he’d felt all day.

“If I wanted you to—”

Wade was looking at him expectantly, comfortable with his mask off like it always was when they ate, or lounged around, or hung out; Peter having long seen the scars and accepted them. Even with the familiarity of that face gazing back at him he couldn’t get the words out. 

How did Peter ask someone to sleep with him because he’d had the epiphany that they’re everything he didn’t know he could have? That years of friendship and shared loneliness had culminated into the realization that the feelings he had for his best friend swept into deeper territory? 

Looking at Wade’s earnest bare face made his covered one feel like a sham. Wade already knew all the most important parts of him, now he just needed a face to place them with.

“Screw it,” Peter muttered to himself. “You know everything else about me.”

He let his fingers dip under the mask already bunched up to the tops of his cheeks. Exposing the bottom half of his face felt familiar, common-place, routine. Tugging his mask up so it slid along his eyebrows, past his forehead, until his hair broke free, flopping into what he just _knew_ was disarray? 

That felt _different._ New.

_Exciting._

He looked down at the mask he clenched in his fist, then turned his unmasked brown eyes to Wade’s for the first time. 

Wade’s face was comically shocked. Eyes impossibly wide, eyebrows raised, mouth open. If Peter hadn’t been so nervous he probably would have laughed. But, he reminded himself, all this had been for a _reason_. 

“Hi,” he breathed out nervously. “I’m Peter Parker, and I’m a virgin.”

Wade blinked at him, stunned. His mouth which’d been gaping like a fish snapped shut with an audible _click_ at the admission. 

Peter winched. Not a great first impression, leaving your friend stunned enough to nearly bust a crown.

“Honey,” Wade’s voice came out strained, but oddly soft, “I think you mean _virgo._ ”

Peter fiddled with the mask in his hands, wringing it in worry. God, he felt like an idiot. His stomach flipped, tacos not settling well, and… maybe he shouldn’t have added that last part, in hindsight. 

“No,” Peter corrected him, not wanting to beat around the bush. Peter wanted this with Deadpool, if Deadpool wanted _him_. “I mean—I am a virgo, you know that, but I also meant exactly what I said.”

“That’s one _hell_ of an introduction,” Wade told him, having sobered up from his shock, setting his taco down in order to hold out a gloved hand. “Nice to meet you Peter Parker the virgin.”

Peter clasped the outstretched hand with his own, squeezing lightly. The weight of Wade’s larger hand wrapped around his made him wish for bare skin; he wanted to know what they felt like roaming up his sides, teasing, making their way to cup around his neck and _hold_.

Wade, for once in his life abiding by social cues, tried to slip his hand away after the customary brief three seconds a handshake normally took. 

Peter held on. 

He let his hand slip through the grip until he threaded his slimmer fingers between larger ones. 

“Spidey—”

“Peter,” he corrected as he intertwined their hands tighter together. “You can use my name now.”

“Peter, Pete, Petey-Pie, just _what_ are you doing,” Wade nearly begged. “And _why_? Why now? It’s _literally_ a random goddamn taco tuesday. Is it national ‘give up your identity day’ and I missed the memo?!”

The shake of Peter’s head was punctuated by the bounce of his unruly curls and he saw Wade’s eyes move up to sneak a peek at them, like he wasn’t allowed. The brief look on his scarred face could only be called wistful before he let his eyes wander back down to Peter’s. Peter knew, though, how much Wade missed having hair. How much he liked soft things. 

There was nothing more Peter wanted to do than let Wade play with his curls, let him run his fingers through it longingly, enviously, playfully. A shiver ran down Peter’s spine at the thought.

As much as Peter wanted the sexual aspects of a relationship, Peter wanted _those_ moments more than anything, too. He craved it all, everything he’d been denying himself for too many years, scared the moment he captured happiness it would be taken from him. Life was often like a bully on a playground for Peter; once he found something that brought him joy, it was snatched roughly out of his hands. Until eventually Peter stopped showing up to the playground altogether.

Wade, on the other hand, seemed to have no trouble making the playground, _life_ , his bitch, despite the repeatedly bad things that had happened to him. He’d dealt with shit in his life that would break any regular person’s spirit; snuffed out, poof, non-existent. But that was one thing Peter had learned from Wade; if life kicked you down, you got up and kicked back ten times harder.

“We’ve taught each other a lot of things, haven’t we?” Peter mused aloud to Wade suddenly. 

Wade nodded, but he added, “ _You’ve_ taught me a lot of things, Petey.”

The easy use of the new nickname had Peter biting at his lip, eyes downcast to their linked hands, words caught in the back of his throat. He knew what he wanted, knew this was the time to say it, and in a moment of steely resolve swallowed past the fear in his throat to finally ask,

“Then would you return the favor and teach me?”

“Teach you what?” Wade asked, a tiny line of confusion forming between his eyebrows. 

_In for a penny, in for a pound,_ as his uncle always used to say.

“ _This,_ ” Peter breathed and used just a tad bit of strength to tug the hand in his so Wade was forced to lean in closer. Peter let the mask in his other hand fall to the rooftop so he could use it to cup around the back of Wade’s neck and _pull_.

At the first brush of their lips Peter sighed. He wanted to melt into it, melt into _Wade_ , but at the same time felt like he had to prove something to the other man; that he wasn’t _just_ some inexperienced virgin, that he was eager and willing to learn. 

So he pressed in a little harder, parting his lips, allowing his tongue to press and lick at Wade’s mouth. While not _actually_ working from experience, Peter had seen enough porn to know that this was how it was done. How bad could he be at _kissing_ , really?

A light press to his breastbone had him pulling back, panting slightly at the lack of oxygen. 

Wade was looking even more shocked than he had at Peter’s identity reveal.

“Is this real?” he asked Peter in a daze. “Like, _really_?”

“Really really.”

“Ugh, that’s what a hallucination would say,” Wade whined. “You have to say something I wouldn’t expect!”

“Well,” Pete let go of him, crossing his arms stubbornly. “I can’t say _no_! I’d be lying!”

“That would make more sense!” Wade argued. “I don’t get it, baby boy. You never really seemed interested before. I always thought you had someone, honestly.”

Peter looked away. “I haven’t had _anyone_ ,” he grumbled petulantly, starting to feel like this was a giant mistake. He’d figured Wade would jump on the chance, no questions asked. He hadn’t expected _resistance_.

Fingers hooked under his chin and turned him gently to look into startling blue eyes. Behind the mask Peter never had to be mindful of where or how long he looked. With the mask off now, however… He’d have to remember not to stare excessively into Wade’s mesmerizing eyes. 

“I don’t care _who_ or _how many_ ,” Wade’s deep voice told him. “I just don't understand _me._ You could have anyone Peter, surely you know that. God, one look at you and the whole world would know.”

“The world had their chance,” Peter mumbled. “No one’s shown any interest. Even if they _did_ , it’s not like I can act on it. Bringing someone into _this_ kind of life is a death sentence. It’s dangerous and selfish.”

“Oh, Petey,” Wade disagreed with a shake of his head. “Love’s never selfish.”

Peter ripped his head from the fingers still resting at his chin. “It is when anyone I’m around has the potential of being in danger because of me being Spider-Man. How can I share my bed if I can’t share my secret? How can I be with someone if I can’t promise they’ll be safe from the enemies that seek me out? They’d be in _danger_ , Wade. Unknowingly and unwillingly.”

“Is that what this is about?” Wade asked him, sounding thoughtful. “Baby boy, you don’t have to settle for me just because you think you aren’t deserving of love.”

“I’m not settling,” Peter protested. 

At Wade’s skeptical look, Peter repeated stronger, “I’m not! Look, Wade, I may not have always taken you seriously, and—and maybe I made it seem like I wasn’t interested, but… I’ve realized I _do_ want that with you. You’re kind and caring. You make me laugh like no one else. We have a blast together, don’t we? And—okay, maybe there are parts of my reasons that are selfish.”

Tears welled up inexplicably, blurring his vision, but he attempted to fight them back. “I don’t want to have to lose someone because I’m Spider-Man _again_. You know how my uncle died. You know the harm I’ve put my friends in, all because they’re close to me. Imagine if I ended up loving someone and they—” a single tear did fall this time, followed by a few more hastily swiped at. “I couldn’t _live_ with myself, DP. I—I—”

His small hiccupped sob forced Wade into action, and suddenly he was scooped up into strong, comforting arms. They circled him like a leather shield and Peter burrowed himself down a little deeper, letting his forehead rest along the hollow of Wade’s throat. 

“I get it,” Wade murmured soothingly. “Believe me, Pete, I get it. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Fuck, I should shut my mouth and take what I can get. I may have been in your league once upon a time, but now I’m table scraps compared to your thanksgiving feast. You’re a wet dream, baby. You’re a lone drop of water in a miles long, dry desert. You’re a ray of sunshine on an endless gloomy day. I should be grateful you’ll settle for my ugly mug—”

“M’not settling,” he mumbled into Wade’s katana strap. 

“—but I don’t want you to regret this.”

Peter, eyes shiny but tears gone, leaned out of their embrace to look at Wade. “I won’t regret it.”

“I know you say that _now_. But you don’t have to be in a relationship to have sex, kiddo. Go forth and scour Kindling!” Wade paused thoughtfully. “Or is it Tinder?”

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Whatever the kids are using these days, download it and let yourself have a good time. Sex doesn’t have to mean commitment. It’s supposed to be dirty and fun and _hot_.” 

“And if I wanted all that with _you_?”

“Then I’d be one lucky man,” Wade answered honestly, leaning in. “Are you sure you want it with me, baby boy? Because I’m only gonna fight so hard on this. I promise you I ain’t going anywhere, friend or otherwise. I’ll always be here for you, so you don’t have to go giving me this. But when someone like _you_ comes offering to someone like _me..._ I may be indestructible, but I’m only human, sweetheart.”

Peter didn’t know how to convince Wade this was truly what he wanted, that _he_ was what Peter wanted, but he took a steady breath and tried again. “It’s not about me giving you anything, Wade. It’s about what I want to share with you. I could go out and have sex with anyone, that’s true. But a part of me has always stopped before I could because I think—Well, I think I always wanted it to be special. I wanted it to be with someone I trusted, someone I could l-love,” he stumbled over the word but powered on. “Someone I could share my life with.”

He brought a hand up to curl around one of the straps crossing Wade’s chest. “It may only have been recent, but I’ve decided I want that with you. We’ve shared a lot together, you and I. Why not this? Why can’t we at least try, see how it goes? If we don’t work out, we can go back to being Spider-Man and Deadpool. But what if it does? What if it’s everything we both wanted and more? What if it was like every time we team up; it just clicked, and we kicked ass, and in the end we won.”

“In the end we won,” Wade repeated to himself quietly, awed, his hand coming up to rest along Peter’s own on his chest. 

“It’s not _just_ because you can’t die, Wade. It’s not just because you’ll always be there. It’s because I want to be there for you, too.”

Before Peter knew it Wade was leaning in, lips consuming his own, and Peter met him enthusiastically. Wade shifted back just enough so there was a tiny space between their lips, and whispered, “Let me _teach_ you, Petey. You don’t have to impress me. Let me show you how good it can be.” With that he dived back in. 

Peter didn’t have time to feel embarrassed, not with Wade’s lips on his. Anything and everything was forgotten in that moment. Wade started it out slower, slower than before, with just the barest brushes of his lips on his. His lower lip tingled where Wade bit down on it before soothing it with a swipe of his tongue. Peter couldn’t help but pant against Wade’s mouth, already worked up, despite only sharing closed mouth kisses.

The hand that had been gripping at the strap dropped down to grab at Wade’s massive thigh when Wade coaxed his lips open expertly. At the first touch of Wade’s tongue against his own fire ignited in his veins and he leaned in, wanting to chase, wanting to taste, wanting _more_. 

“ _Fuck,”_ Wade pulled back with a whispered curse. “You’re a fucking dream, Peter. Are you even real? Are you sure I didn’t fall to my death and this is just some sick tease as my brain knits itself back together?”

Peter shook his head, lips buzzing as they brushed against Wade’s at the movement. “Not dead, nope.”

“Might as well be,” Wade argued. “Cause I think this is the closest I’m gonna get to heaven.”

For all the heartfelt emotions they’d spewed tonight, _that_ was by far the cheesiest. Peter opened his mouth to say just that but oddly enough Wade’s tongue was there and then, even odder still, Peter forgot just what he was going to say. 

Wade’s hands worked their way up to frame under his jaw, and Peter shivered, his thoughts from earlier coming back tenfold now that he knew what those large hands felt like around his neck. Peter shuffled closer, arms wrapping around Wade’s back to pull him closer, kissing back more confidently, getting the hang of it thanks to Wade’s guidance.

Peter inched his way closer still, practically in the other man’s lap when he slipped, sliding sideways with a yelp, nearly falling off the ledge of the building. Wade’s arms swiftly and effortlessly wrapped around him, drawing him back in and prevented him from plummeting to his death. Now Peter really _was_ in his lap.

“Maybe,” Wade panted with both arousal and sudden adrenaline, “we shouldn’t do this here.”

Peter titled his head to look down at the far, far, _far_ ground below. 

He gave a tiny nod. 

Wade nuzzled into the column of Peter’s throat. “We don’t have to do anything tonight, you know.”

Peter traced a thick scar with a gloved finger. “Even if I want to?”

“God,” Wade groaned against his skin and Peter felt it down to his bones. “This might just be how I go. I can’t promise you I’ll live through this. RIP to me.”

Peter was glad Wade couldn’t see his wide smile. It felt… powerful, in a completely different way than being Spider-Man did, to make Wade feel that way. It stoked the arousal in his veins and made Peter’s stomach twist pleasantly. With an armful of Wade, he asked boldly, 

“Mine or yours?”

Wade shifted so they were looking into each other's eyes. He’d never been to Peter’s apartment before as Peter always worried something inside might give away his identity. They only ever hung out at Wade’s, which never seemed to bother him in the slightest. Although Peter didn’t mind spending time at Wade’s, enjoyed it even, something inside him _really_ wanted to see the larger man in his bed. 

“You’ve never had anyone in your bed before?” Apparently Wade was thinking the same thing.

Peter shook his head as he admitted, “No.”

Deadpool tugged Peter up, helping him down off the ledge they’d been ~~making out~~ sitting on. He gave one last lingering peck to Peter’s swollen lips before instructing, “Text me your address, there’s a few things I need to pick up before I come over.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers for part 2. I know I need a drink. 🥂 
> 
> It's a little soft, a lot filthy, funny (I hope), and _very_ self indulgent. I hope you all enjoy it too!
> 
> Happy reading & let me know what you think!

Burning hot kisses trailed down Peter’s spine, each one a brand. 

A brand that meant he was Wade’s, as one by one descending kisses brought his lips closer to somewhere Peter hadn’t even _imagined_ they’d go.

Peter had swung the whole way home on autopilot, not remembering the trip at all. 

He’d slid in clumsily through his open window and tidied up hurriedly, attempting to chuck his suit and hide evidence of any _living_ within the space in the same motion. He wasn’t exactly sure why he felt self conscious about his apartment. Wade’s could be _atrocious_ at times; Peter having to go so far as to gather old pizza boxes and take out the trash because Wade was, if he were being honest, a bit of a slob. 

After that he’d taken the fastest shower imaginable, scrubbing in every nook and cranny because suit sweat was a _thing._ Then he hovered anxiously over his clothes, wondering if he should go for impression over comfort. It wasn’t like he’d be in them long, if all went well. He chose comfort after a few agonizing minutes.

It hadn’t been long after that Deadpool showed up, CVS bag in hand.

Peter’s eyes flickered down to the bag in question then back up to Deadpool. “Did you just go get tha—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Wade had interrupted, pulling off his mask to reveal his smirk. “Let’s hold all comments and questions until the _end_ of class.”

His predatory smile descended on Peter…

Then here they were.

Or more specifically here was Peter, naked, lying face down in his own bed as Wade hovered above him, pressing teasing kisses down the dip of his spine. 

“You’re gonna love it,” Wade promised between kisses. “I’m gonna eat you out and loosen you up _so good_. All you gotta do is lay there and look delicious. God, you’re gonna taste _ah-mazing_. I just know it.” 

Peter was starting to worry about the food analogies but before he could manage to say anything Wade’s tongue reached out to touch the dimples at the base of his spine; the final gateway before reaching his destination. Peter’s back tensed as Wade’s hands moved to spread him apart, and despite the coolness of his room, he felt warm all over. He hid his face in the crook of his arm and resisted the urge to move out of Wade’s hold, the exposed feeling overwhelming. 

“Oh, _Spidey_.” Wade’s voice sounded damn near worshipful, like he was a preacher on Sunday morning and Peter was his sermon. “You’re the best damn dream I ever had.”

For the thousandth time— 

“You’re not dreaming, Wade,” he forced through his embarrassment. 

“I gotta be,” Peter felt his hold shift and suddenly the thick pad of Wade’s thumb was pressing down on him. “This just isn’t something I get to have.”

Peter shuddered as the thumb pressed inward. Not enough to penetrate, but enough that he felt pressure and a slight stretch. A hint of what was to come.

Wade leaned over, letting scarred lips run over the curve of his ass as he whispered, “Are you gonna let me in, Petey?”

Teeth bit gently across slick skin as a soft mouth traveled farther in until Peter felt the warm puff of his breath over his hole. Peter prepared himself for the first touch, but it never came.

It seemed that question hadn’t been rhetorical. 

“Yes,” Peter whimpered out low, voice rough with arousal, face burning against his forearm.

“Good boy.”

Peter gasped, tensing, as the thumb was replaced by the wettest, hottest, _strangest_ feeling. _Fuck_ . He’d been missing out on this the _whole time?_ His hips had no idea where to go, as the sensation of Wade’s tongue delving into him and the aching of his hard dick against the mattress battled. He wanted to grind his hips down, chase that friction, but when he did it drew him farther from Wade’s exploring mouth.

“You taste better than I imagined,” Wade growled before diving back in, and Peter could do nothing but quiver and moan against the sheets as Wade did as promised and loosened him up with his tongue. 

It was sloppy and wet, which should have been gross, but it was the most amazing feeling Peter had ever felt and his brain was _short circuiting_ , okay, who cared about the spit as he was too busy getting rimmed an inch from his life. 

_Here lies Peter Parker,_ his headstone would read, _rimmed to death._

All the sighs and moans Peter had kept within himself, tucked away behind locked doors, were meticulously picked open one by one. They spilled freely from his lips, springing forth from where they’d been buried as Wade uncovered them easily with his devious mouth.

“Wade,” Peter gasped out like all the oxygen had left the room, trembling from the unrelenting enthusiasm of _that damn tongue_. “I c-can’t, you gotta—”

But the tentative tip of a finger alongside that tongue had him tensing up again, words lost, the sensation different, although not entirely new. Peter had fingered himself plenty of times. He was a virgin, not a _monk_ , yet the press of Wade’s fingers were far more intimidating in their thickness than his own.

“No stopping yet, honeybee,” Wade told him, pressing in a little more. “Lot’s to teach you yet, remember? I gots a list.”

“A l-list?” Peter stammered out, and despite him knowing Wade couldn’t have been pressing more than the pad of his fingertip in, the stretch felt wide.

“Mhmm,” Wade hummed in agreement, removing his finger to lick a broad stripe up with the flat of his tongue, ending with a chaste kiss to a sweat-slick tailbone. Shivers ran themselves up and down Peter’s back as goosebumps raised along his arms. “A _loooong_ one. Scribbled right on the back of that CVS receipt.”

 _Jesus_ , Peter wasn’t entirely sure he’d make it through that list. 

There was a soft sound of a bottle cap opening and then Wade’s finger was back, slicker and cooler than before. The ridges of the scars felt odd, but not unpleasant, as his finger slipped in easier, farther than before, eased by lube and the loosening from Wade’s tongue. 

Peter knew enough from his own exploration that tensing wouldn’t help, so he attempted to relax, unclenching his muscles, as Wade continued an easy, careful slide of his finger in until the last knuckle. 

Another kiss placed to the base of his spine. “You doing okay, baby boy?”

Peter nodded his head, hair swishing against the sheets, bottom lip worried between his teeth.

“You want another one?”

Peter nodded again, accompanying the movement against the mattress with a soft, “ _Yes.”_

“Okay, Petey,” Wade acquiesced and his finger slid out, leaving an odd empty feeling behind. “Ask and you shall receive.”

Peter could hear Wade slicking more of his fingers up and he adjusted himself along the bed. His dick felt rock hard, neglected, leaking against his stomach. But he didn’t reach down to touch himself.

On their way to the bedroom they’d both shed their clothes (and suit), Peter making sure the room was lit dimly, yet dark enough that they both felt comfortable. It was a first time for both of them, in different respects. It was the first time Peter was sharing this with someone, and for Wade it was the first time letting Peter see more beyond his face, something Peter knew was significant.

When they’d both fallen naked into bed, low light casting enticing shadows, Peter had reached out to touch Wade, who was long _and_ thick, perfect even with the scarring, only to have his hand intercepted. His fingers were caught in Wade’s larger grip and kissed sweetly before he’d been forbidden from touching Wade _or_ himself, until he was told otherwise. 

Technically he wasn’t touching himself, he was touching the _bed,_ so he continued the little thrust of his hips against the mattress; not enough, but at least something. He was caught, though, when Wade’s hand circled his hip and pulled him up. 

“Naughty boys get on their hands and knees.” 

“But I didn’t—!” Despite his protest Peter drew himself up on his hands and knees; there’d been a funny swoop in his stomach earlier when Wade had called him a _good boy_ and maybe Peter was hoping Wade would say it again. Just to see if that swoop happened a second time. For research purposes, of course. 

“Leave it to my smart little spider to find a loophole,” Wade clicked his tongue but after a little adjustment behind Peter, pressed his fingers back in.

The change in position made it feel like they were pressing in deeper, and Peter hung his head, arms shaking, as Wade carefully stretched him. Even two fingers felt significantly more than just the one, and while it didn’t hurt per se, it still felt weird. Peter wished Wade would go back to using his mouth to distract him from the feeling. 

He supposed there was some necessity to it. Considering how big Wade was, there was no getting around it. Peter had used his fingers on himself before as he jacked off, liked how it added to the sensation, but he didn’t see what the big deal was, really. It felt good, sure, but it certainly wasn’t _amaz_ —

“ _Ohmygod,”_ Peter cried out, arms sliding out from under him unexpectedly. He buried his face in them, hands moving up to cradling his head, fingers tangling in his hair as a feeling that _must_ have been ecstasy enveloped him. The position arched his back, pushing those fingers in even deeper, and he whimpered as something hot white zipped like a thousand shooting stars through his body.

“Found it,” Wade boasted smugly behind him, voice husky in a way Peter had never heard before. As deft fingers continued their assault on that spot inside him, Peter screwed his eyes up tightly and _held on_. A particular deep, ridged piece of scar tissue caught Peter’s rim everytime Wade twisted his fingers, and his body vibrated with each tantalizing press as a telling sensation built up in his stomach. A thought crossed Peter’s mind fleetingly... he wondered if he could come just from this. 

Suddenly the empty feeling returned, halting his impending release so fast Peter could swear he heard the squeal of brakes. He couldn’t stop the tiny unhappy noise that escaped him, feeling the loss of Wade’s fingers greatly, a little upset about his lost orgasm. Peter turned to peek over his shoulder to see just what Wade was up to.

He was coating his fingers _again_. 

“You don’t have to use that much,” Peter said shakily, nerves shot, body quaking. “I’m not made of porcelain, DP.”

“Alright, first lesson,” Wade closed the cap on the lube with a soft _snick_ and tossed it aside. “Take notes, it could be on the pop quiz.”

_Pop quiz?_

Fingers circled at his hole as Wade continued to lecture him.

“The only way it should hurt is if you _like_ it to hurt,” Wade told him seriously, fingers pressing in teasingly before retreating back out again. 

“And since you don’t know what you like yet, we make sure you don’t hurt.”

Wade let his fingers slide in further, even more of a stretch now with three instead of two. Peter had used three fingers on himself before, but they were no comparison to Wade’s. This time the stretch burned a little more and Peter’s shoulders tensed up as they slid in further, spreading him wider. He felt Wade’s other hand slide soothingly up his spine to squeeze at the nape of his neck.

Wade followed, draping along his back hard, hot and sweaty, causing the angle of his fingers to change, impossibly _deeper_ , and there was that spark again like a bolt of lightning in his veins. His back bowed on its own accord as he chased that sensation, knees spreading wider as he rocked back onto Wade’s hand.

Wade buried his face into Peter’s hair as he groaned out, “You’re gonna kill me, baby boy, honest.”

Peter wanted to tell him he felt like _he_ might die, the fingers inside him unrelenting, hitting that spot inside him mercilessly as Wade continued to make sure he was prepared fully to take him.

Deadpool nuzzled further down to growl in his ear, “But you gotta let me fuck you before that happens.”

“ _Wade_ ,” Peter managed to moan out, the rest of what he’d hoped to say lost in the haze of spine-tingling pleasure.

Peter shivered at the throaty voice in his ear, the scarred torso framing his back, and suddenly he wasn’t sure he could _take_ much more. If this was just the preparation, he very well might die during the act. 

What a way to go.

“Wade,” Peter gasped again, this time in alarm as a familiar tightening sensation started in his groin. He’d been close to release before but Wade had made sure to stop, pull back, add more fingers. This time the fingers didn’t stop and Peter curled in on himself, his orgasm cresting like a wave, ready to crash down on him at any moment. “ _Wade_ , I’m—I’m gonna—”

“Go ahead,” Wade purred permissively in his ear as he shifted closer still and everywhere there was Wade; around him, on him, _in him._ Peter shuddered and he felt his dick twitch, like it always did right before he was about to—

“Come on my fingers, Petey,” he coaxed. “Don’t hold back. Let’s get you all loose and lax, baby.”

Peter cried out as he reached his climax like an explosion, _constellations_ shooting across his vision _._ Fingers crooked up harder into that spot as he shook on them, careening him into another wave of all-consuming pleasure. 

He crumpled onto the bedspread, whimpering, hands fisted in the sheets as he shook with aftershocks. Peter couldn’t even be bothered to move out of the wet spot he’d made.

He’d just come without even a _hand_ on his dick, _what the fuck._

That shit just didn’t happen outside porn, right?

Deadpool came up to lounge next to him, running a dry hand up and down his back as Peter slowly floated back down to earth.

Peter hadn’t even felt him move. 

The self-satisfied smile spread across Wade’s handsome face should have been cocky, but instead all it gave Peter was the desire to reach over and kiss him.

Peter attempted to do just that but his body wasn’t firing on all cylinders, apparently. He’d come back to the idea when he could move his limbs. 

“You’re so fucking adorable,” Wade cooed at him, watching Peter blink the daze of his toe-curling orgasm away. 

Peter didn’t feel adorable. He felt… filthy. He blushed, hiding his face but Wade's fingers caught him, cupping his jaw as he bent down to give him a chaste kiss. 

“No need to be embarrassed,” Wade whispered to him, leaning his forehead against Peter’s. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. Pay-per-view’s got nothing on you, hotstuff.”

“Wade,” he groaned out in embarrassment.

“What? It’s the truth!” Wade chirped. “I wouldn’t tell a lie.”

Peter, mind still fuzzy and floaty, snorted.

“Alright,” Wade amended. “Maybe I would. But _never_ about _dat ass_. Trust me when I say I’ve polished the old banister to it all. And your ass? It could save _lives.”_

“I _do_ save lives,” Peter felt the need to remind him.

“No, no, I’m talking strictly about your ass, here.”

Speaking of his ass…

Peter turned his head to sneak a peek and, yep, Wade was still fully hard, even as he seemed content to just chat away while petting at Peter as he regrained full mobility.

“Are we gonna—I mean, are you—”

Wade spared him from trying to form that particular sentence his brain was struggling with. “That’s up to you, sugar-boo. We may have that big old E up there, but believe me, there’s plenty more we can do to earn that rating. There’s so much I can show you before we get to that part.”

Peter bit his lip, still able to feel the phantom touch of Wade’s fingers in him. He felt stretched but _empty,_ and as intimidating as Wade looked he trusted him not to hurt him. He wanted to feel him inside, stretching him full, hitting that spot repeatedly, even if he was pretty sure he might not survive it. 

Wade had made sure Peter was taken care of, he wanted to do the same in return. 

Peter shook his head decidedly. “No, I want to.”

Wade expressed his opinion of this decision by dragging him into an obscene kiss, letting his tongue plunge deeper and dirtier into his mouth. Peter tried not to think about where that mouth had been, but the blush sprung up on his cheeks futilely anyway.

“Up you get, pretty spider,” Wade lounged back against Peter’s headboard as Peter shifted up to his knees to kneel besides him.

Peter had… not been prepared to be in the driver’s seat. So to speak.

“ _Wade..._ ,” and something in Peter’s apprehensive tone must have given him away because Wade reached for him easily, settling Peter into his lap like he was a rag doll, making sure a leg was on either side of his large thighs. 

“It’ll be easier this way,” Wade explained as his hands rubbed soothing paths up and down his flanks. “You can control the angle and how fast we go.”

“But I want it to feel good for you, too.” 

Peter didn’t just want Wade thinking about _him_. As selfish and grandiose as Deadpool seemed to come off to others, Peter had learned that Wade was actually caring to the point of self-sacrificing. Peter wanted this to feel good for both of them. _Together_. He was starting to feel guilty that so far the only one who had enjoyed himself was Peter.

Wade let out an amused chuckle. “Oh, believe me. It’s gonna feel more than good for me.”

One of those scarred hands left his side to grab a few things he’d laid out on the bed. His hand came back clutching two things: the bottle of lube and a condom. Peter’s gaze focused on the little tin foil square, confused. 

“We don't really need that do we?” was out of Peter’s mouth before he could think about it. Instantly he regretted it, embarrassed beyond belief, wishing he could pluck the question out of the air between them and chuck it into non existence.

Wade didn’t seem bothered by the question, if the way his dick bobbed and beaded with precum eagerly was any indication. 

“Fuck, you can’t just _say_ shit like that, babe,” the man under him groaned. “I got a bare-back kink a mile wide and a cutie on me who can’t catch anything. I’m trying to be _responsible_ ,” he whined.

Wade held the packet up between a scarred thumb and forefinger. “All this means is less clean up, honestly. Or else you’re gonna feel filthy.”

“I already feel filthy,” Peter pointed out.

Wade jolted underneath him, hand flapping down dramatically along the bedspread. “That’s it, I’m dead. This was either a horribly laughable mistake and I wound up in _heaven_ , or I’m in hell and any minute now you’re about to leave and be replaced with something that’s gonna eat my face off.”

Peter sighed exasperatedly and snatched the condom out of Wade’s hand.

“Nothing’s gonna eat your face off,” Peter huffed as he opened the condom. But he froze once he held it in his hands, never actually having put one on himself or anyone else for that matter. His only experience was back in high school health class, just him, a condom, and one traumatized banana. 

“I want to eat _your_ face off,” Wade leered at him, but a moment later his gentle hands guided Peter’s as he gave soft, encouraging instructions until he was rolling the condom down over Wade’s sizable cock. He shuddered in Peter’s grip as he gave a few curious tugs.

“Woo- _oah nelly_ ,” Wade moaned, voice cracking, and his hand reached down to grasp Peter’s wrist to stop him mid stroke.

Peter frowned. He’d only been doing what he liked on himself.

When Wade’s breathing leveled out he looked a bit sheepish. 

“The scars are, uh, a little extra sensitive there,” Wade admitted. “Maybe the condom wasn’t _just_ for your sake,” he shrugged, looking a tad self conscious. “It’s been a while, you know, and I want to make it last for you, baby boy.”

Overwhelmed by how fucking _thoughtful_ the man under him could be, Peter leaned forward to kiss him like he’d wanted to earlier. He loosened his grip on Wade’s cock but still gave a few pleasurable strokes, not wanting to overstimulate. Peter swallowed the deep moan that escaped Wade this time, and he honestly couldn’t have felt more powerful having the notorious large, scarred, ex-mercenary Deadpool fall apart underneath him.

Peter searched around for the lube this time, lips still sealed over Wade’s, awkwardly opening it up to pour some into his hand. He used it to slick Wade up generously, knowing he’d need it. He shivered as Wade stole some of the lube he’d just been slicked with to make sure Peter was still prepared thoroughly, slick and loose from earlier. Peter shivered at the retreat of those fingers, then before he knew it Wade was positioning him up to kneel over him. 

There was nothing he couldn’t do, Peter coached himself mentally. He’d saved countless lives, fought villains almost weekly, _went to goddamn space_. He could take this dick.

The first press of Wade against his entrance had Peter screwing his suddenly-damp eyes shut, lip clamped sharply between teeth, reconsidering his moments-ago notion that he could, indeed, take this dick. But then scarred hands were petting encouragingly at his sides, reminding him to _breathe, Pete, relax,_ lips dotting kisses like a necklace around his throat and suddenly the brief, painful stretch was gone and he was inching down, down, down until he was seated fully in Wade’s lap.

“ _Fuuuck,”_ Wade cursed with a groan into his neck as Peter bottomed out, the hands that had been caressing his hips now digging in. 

“Just need a minute, just a minute,” Wade breathed out pleadingly, his breath warm and damp across Peter’s flush skin. 

A shaky exhale escaped Peter’s lungs in relief. If Peter were being honest, he needed a minute, too. Peter now understood the necessity of a _shit ton_ of lube. The stretch was _intense_ , the fullness on the edge of too much, and Peter tingled at every touch of contact. Wade was _everywhere_ ; under him, in him, taking up space in every crevice of Peter, making him his new permanent residence. 

Wade panted into the crook of his neck for another moment as they both adjusted. Peter took the time to explore, letting his hands slip up muscled arms, following the dip and swell of them, tracing thicker scars, until he settled his hands on top of wide, strong shoulders. 

“How you doin’, beautiful?” Wade leaned back to ask, catching his eye. “Not too painful?”

Peter gave a squeeze of his hands and a shake of his head as answer. It was another one of those moments where his voice was lost to him. Wade was _inside him_. This was really happening. He was too enveloped in emotion to properly answer.

“You can move anytime now, sweetheart, but only if you’re ready.”

Peter let himself rise just a little bit, experimentally, before letting gravity ease him back down. It didn’t feel as amazing as Wade’s fingers had, to his disappointment, but it was still plenty sensitive and with each downward movement a thrill went up his spine. Peter could feel the phantom outlines of Wade’s thick, deep scars through the condom, and he couldn’t help but wonder what they’d feel like completely bare, catching on his rim, rubbing intensely inside him. 

Peter hoped one day he’d find out. 

But he focused back on what he was doing, leveraging himself up a bit more with the help of Wade’s shoulders, legs already burning as he set up a steady rhythm. Wade’s groans were guttural, like he’d taken a bad punch to the stomach, open mouthed and panting against Peter’s collarbone as his large hands spanned the width of Peter’s back as he fucked himself down on Wade’s cock.

With each movement Peter made sure to go a little higher, a little deeper, chasing those pain-pleasure sounds spilling from scarred lips. He was trying to find that spot inside him, the one Wade had seemed to find so easily, but Peter only seemed to be having trouble. He ground down a little harder, a small huff of irritation escaping him, but still that spot evaded him. Wade spasmed under Peter at the rough motion, hands scrambling along his back.

“You, _ungh_ , not getting what you need, Petey?” Wade asked as if he already knew the answer, and a hand slithered down to wrap itself around Peter’s hard on. His voice sounded gravelly, _wrecked_ , and Peter felt a sense of pride that he’d _done that_.

Oh, that hand wrapped around him felt _amazing_ , the textured scars an unforeseen plus as Wade slowly jacked him.

Peter continued his pace as he tried to explain, “I like it—it feels _good_ —”

“But you’re not feeling the fireworks?” Wade finished for him. 

Peter crumpled forward so fast Wade barely had time to register what was going on and Peter buried his face into the crook of his neck. He felt overwhelmed, embarrassed, like he’d somehow messed this all up. Within his spot tucked up against Wade, scars rubbing against his cheek soothingly, he felt like he could breathe a little easier.

“Hey, _hey_ ,” Wade spoke softly, concerned, and his arms came up to warp around him. “Peter, seriously, if something isn’t working you gotta tell me, honey.”

“It _is_ working. You like it!” Peter protested. “I just don’t know why I can’t—”

“Hey,” Wade repeated, clasping Peter’s biceps and prying him from his hiding spot. “If it isn’t working for _you_ it isn’t working for _me_. This is just one of many ways we can do this, Pete. I only suggested it because I thought it might give you some control.”

 _I don’t want control_ , a small voice piped up from the back of his mind, but Peter kept it to himself. Instead Peter looked away from Wade’s caring eyes, feeling like a screw up. No wonder he was a twenty-something virgin. He clearly sucked at this.

Wade’s thumb traced a path back and forth across Peter’s bottom lip. “Don’t go beating yourself up in that smart little noggin of yours. You didn’t do anything wrong. I think you know what you want, baby. Why don’t you tell me.”

That scarred digit pressed in a little harder against his lip and Peter’s breath hitched. 

“What is it, huh? You know I’d give you anything you asked for. What do you want, Peter?” His voice was a growl, the low timbre of it making Peter shake, an exhilarating zip going up his spine, and his half hard cock jumped along his abdomen.

Wade’s eyes flickered to it before cutting back to Peter’s damn near predatory.

“Tell Deadpool, sweetheart,” Wade urged, but his voice didn’t sound sweet and coaxing, no, it sounded deep, commanding and powerful, like when they patrolled; a voice he’d heard him use a thousand times before since they’d partnered up. It’d just never been directed at him before.

It always did things to him, that voice.

“I want you to fuck me,” Peter pleaded in a whisper, letting the thoughts trapped in his head escape into the space between them.

“ _Good boy_.” 

Peter gasped, the words creating a spark of fire that caught and spread like wildfire throughout him, burning everything it touched. He trembled on top of Wade until suddenly the world was shifting, blurring, until he was being shoved back gently, cradled from the jostling move by strong arms. 

His back hit the cool sheets of his bed and Wade hovered over him, still inside, arms planted on either side of Peter’s head.

“I told myself I’d let this be about you,” he confessed to Peter hesitantly. But Peter didn’t want that. He wanted Wade to take charge, use him, mark him until there was no question about who Peter had been with and what they’d been doing. No doubt in anyone's mind about who he belonged to.

Peter only had one word catching at the back of his throat.

 _“Please,”_ Peter begged, and that was all it took. 

Wade lifted one of Peter’s legs, his hand spread against the back of one thigh as he pressed it up towards Peter. The new position had Peter’s eyes rolling back into his head as Wade slid into him, impossibly deeper.

“Fuck,” Wade cursed as he watched Peter’s leg keep going until it pressed up against his own chest. “You're so bendy, you’re like my own personal gumby.”

The position was easy enough for Peter, who’d been flexible long before the bite and even more so after. His leg slipped easily over a broad, marred shoulder, and Wade pressed a kiss to his knee before leaning down on forearms to kiss him sloppily. 

“Hold on,” Wade advised, and that was the last thing Peter registered before Wade was pulling out and slamming back in, somehow perfectly hitting that spot Peter had been desperately trying to find on the first try.

Peter cried out at the direct stimulation, hands fisting in the bedsheets, little mewls and whines escaping as Wade kept going, hitting that spot directly like it was his own personal mission in life. 

Maybe it was. 

Peter felt like a storm was raging under his skin, wild and out of control, making everything sharp and electrified. Every bite of Wade’s lips, every thrust of his hips, every single movement heightened intensely until all Peter was was a sobbing puddle beneath Wade. 

Despite it being their first time together Wade was touching him like they were seasoned lovers. He mouthed at Peter’s neck like he knew it would cause sparks to fly behind his closed eyelids. His hand snaked down to grip at Peter’s neglected cock and Peter nearly lost his breath at the duel sensation of being fucked and jerked off; pleasure combining into the almost painful side of too much. It was like he knew just what to do to glean a response out of Peter. 

Wade, the puppeteer, and Peter, his puppet. 

He wasn’t going to last much longer, at this rate.

Peter didn’t know where Wade liked being touched but suddenly it didn’t matter. He just wanted his hands on the other man. Peter unfisted them from the sheets and set their new destination to Wade, running up his thick arms, across his broad shoulders, running over his handsome, square jaw. 

Wade growled, nipping at his fingers, and adjusted his position. He shifted his knees wider, thrusting harder and deeper as his other hand came to rest along the leg on his shoulder, bending Peter even more.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” Wade breathed across his lips and Peter kissed him, deep and slow despite the frantic pounding of Wade’s hips. “I want to record them and keep them forever.”

Peter didn’t have the breath to say it, but he wanted to tell him: you don’t have to record them. I’ll make them for you forever, as long as you promise not to stop. 

At another perfect hit against his prostate Peter groaned, lips slipping from Wade’s mouth, across his cheek, to pant harshly against his ear.

“That’s it, baby,” Wade encouraged, sounding like he’d run a dozen miles but was immensely happy about it.

Peter’s pleasure peaked, blindingly mind-blowing, and he found himself spiraling, control slipping out of his reach. It wasn’t something he’d consciously thought to do (although when he pondered it later he wouldn’t regret it) but as he lost himself to Wade’s minstations, he found himself _biting down_ onto the scarred, corded neck _right there_ within reach of his mouth. He moaned around the soft skin right beneath Wade’s ear and let himself shake apart; exploding into a million pieces as he experienced the largest, soul-searing orgasm of his young life.

As Peter spilled in his hand, Wade curled over him instantly, giving one last powerful thrust. It was as if Peter himself had hit a ‘detonate’ button causing Wade to erupt beautifully, like a burning star, and he shook apart right along with the younger man. 

There in Peter’s bed, in his tiny apartment, they both broke into a million matching pieces and faded into oblivion.

* * *

Peter woke not from the bright sun through his blinds, or his screeching alarm, like usual, but from fingers carding lazily through his hair. 

“[ _Rise and shine_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_LbezXg-6A), sleepy head,” Wade’s thick-with-sleep voice sung from beside him. 

Peter shifted, twisting, until he was pressed up against Wade’s side. “Good morning.”

Peter’s mind felt fuzzy from sleep, and the night before. He honestly didn’t remember much after he’d come last night. There were snippets of Wade pulling out, cleaning him up, but beyond that…

He looked down, noticing the sheets had been changed and he was in one of his sleep shirts.

Peter blushed, glancing up at Wade through his eyelashes. He’d kind of maybe sort of passed out on him last night.

“God,” Wade said in an affectionate voice, eyes soft. “Did I tell you how fucking gorgeous you are? The moment you took that mask off I swore I was asleep cause only I could manage to dream up someone that perfect.”

Peter’s eyes rolled off their own accord. “Wade you’re n—

“Not dreaming,” Wade beat him to it. “I know—I mean. I don’t, not really, but I hope I’m not. It’s the best damn dream I’ve ever had, if so.”

Fingers carded back through his hair and Peter stretched, enjoying the feeling of nails along his scalp, and let his head fall onto Wade’s naked chest. 

“Oh, does my little kitty like that,” Wade laughed into his curly mess of bedhead. 

Peter snapped his eyes shut, feeling emotional all of a sudden, and buried his face further into Wade. He may have told Wade a hundred times he wasn’t dreaming, but the reality was that Peter wasn’t entirely sure himself. The happiness bubbling up instead him warred with his worry, and he prayed he’d be able to keep this. Keep Wade.

A kiss planted itself on the top of his head.

“How do pancakes sound?” Wade asked him, voice more cheerful than Peter had ever heard before.

Peter lifted his head. Shouldn’t they talk about last night?

Wade swooped down to plant a kiss on his mouth, stopping him from asking just that. 

“Pancakes first, talking later. Them’s the rules, kiddo.”

Peter felt a tentative smile tick softly at the corner of his mouth. He pushed the worrying aside and let himself just _be_ in the moment. Let himself be enveloped in Wade’s arms, for once not alone when he woke up. Let himself enjoy being in his apartment with this man who was about to cook him breakfast. He felt happy and content. So different from every other morning he usual had.

“Pancakes sound good.”


End file.
